


Yoga

by alliaskofyou



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliaskofyou/pseuds/alliaskofyou
Summary: Sherlock does naked yoga and John walks in on him.





	Yoga

**Author's Note:**

> After Sherlock (from the contact accounts on Twitter) informing us about his yoga adventures (and John’s pawing) I decided I had to write a fic about it. I, at least, wanted to capture the first time Sherlock does yoga and, consequently, the first time John walks in on him practicing. 
> 
> (This was written a while ago and never published. I'm deciding to publish it on a whim because why not?)

Sherlock hears the door shut behind a clearly disgruntled John (heavy feet, walking slightly off kilter, favoring his left leg, heavy sigh as he glares at the tiring stairs). Sherlock settles into position, bending and stretching his spine, palms flat on the ground, backside up in the air. A fairly decent Prasarita Padottanasana for a beginner.

 

He hears a choked gasp before he sees John’s shocked face. His mouth opens, as if to respond with a witty retort, but then closes in pure confusion. He stares, perhaps longer than Sherlock expected, and finally snaps out of his trance and catches Sherlock’s eye.

 

“Wha-”

 

Sherlock stands and turns around, giving John a full view. “Yoga. Which I assume you should know about as well as all the benefits it provides, so no need to explain why I’-”

 

“Why are you naked?”

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes. John tracks the movement, and as his eyes follow, he sees the curtains rising and falling with the wind.

 

“Are you kidding me?!”

 

He quickly steps around Sherlock’s and slams the windows close, groaning loudly as he sees the small crowds of people staring from the street below, pointing up at their flat. “Why do you have the windows open, Sherlock?”

 

“It got quite hot in here after a while.” Sherlock defends as John slams the other window, pulling the curtains in front of the glass.

 

John pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Sherlock, you cannot do naked yoga in our living room with the windows open.”

 

“So I can do yoga naked as long as the windows aren’t open? I don’t understand the difference. I could get overhe-”

 

“Sherlock,” John laughs incredulously and grabs Sherlock’s dressing gown off the top of Sherlock’s chair. “You can’t do yoga naked. Period. What if Mrs. Hudson came up he-”

 

“She already did and she didn’t seem too bothered.”

 

John, having wrapped the dressing gown on Sherlock’s shoulders, rests his head against Sherlock’s chest as laughter takes away his breath. “Sherlock, one day Mrs. Hudson is going to kick us out.”

 

“Nonsense. What would she do without us?” Sherlock pulls John in closer, wrapping his arm around his waist and kissing the top of his sandy hair.

 

He feels John smile against his chest, hot air leaving his lips as he replies, “Have a normal life.”

 

“She’d be endlessly bored.” Sherlock tightens his hold on John, silently hoping John agrees. The past few weeks, months, have been more than difficult and it’s wearing on John. Sherlock’s inconsistent moods and inability to be bored has to irritate and tire him perpetually. Sherlock knows they have to, and he is forever gripped by the fear that his inability to be normal, to achieve some mode of normality, will drive John away. That John, in the end, will desire something Sherlock can’t provide: stability. He feels the uneasy sickness swoop in his belly and the heavyweight take hold in his limbs. John feels the difference, too, because he looks up expectantly at Sherlock. His gaze curious and filled with love, so much love.

 

John places his palm on the side of Sherlock’s face, brushing an errant curl that had fallen over Sherlock’s eye. “What are you thinking about?”

 

Sherlock throat tightens, closing so no words can stumble out. He’s usually so verbose, knowing what to say, even if not always how to say it. Now, the words are clogged. But his eyes aren’t. Tears, the blasted droplets, drip from his eyes and fall into the lines between John’s hand.

 

John stands on his toes and reaches to kiss Sherlock briefly on each closed eyelid, lingering in hope that somehow his love will soak in. He leans back, only slightly, and smiles at Sherlock, disarming Sherlock of all his fears, if only for the moment. “Of course. Terribly, horrendously bored.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
